Australian Sparkling
Whine
ROCK
Leonardo's Bride
Upstairs at the Garage
London
It's a tough gig, being an australian band in london. back home
a hefty fan-base clamours to hear your special blend of acoustic
baroque pop. You beat Nick Cave and Savage garden to the Aria song of the
year and become the subject of a major record company bidding war.
Commercial radio gives you heavy rotation; your stunning debut album
Angel Blood goes gold. Labour Party politicians are quick to seize photo
opportunities. The media even prints your name in its intended lower case.
But tonight, Upstairs at the Garage, it is just Leonardo's Bride
and a clutch of noisy antipodean backpackers- more eager, initially, to
catch up with each other than to shut it, listen and enjoy.
Unfazed, the lead singer Abby Dobson strums a few deceptively light
chords on her acoustic guitar before unleashing a megawatt-powerful voice
which conjures melancholy, romance and sex seemingly out of the ether -
disarming all remaining chatterers in the process.
A blond twenty-something with a penchant for wearing fairy wings
and tinsel, her (unnecessary) technical request for "a bit more sparkle"
in her vocals is at odds with the dark angst-ridden presence of co-founder,
songwriter and guitarist Dean Manning.
After busking away the early Nineties in Europe, Dobson and Manning
returned to Sydney with a swath of original material, formed leonardo's
bride and toured Australia on the back of a self-financed EP. With great
business savvy, they refused two mainstream recording contracts before
Mushroom Records promised them free rein plus a jazz rhythm section for
Angel Blood.
Their intense but restrained live shows are equally intended to
place emphasis fairly and squarely on the music. Indeed, with candelabras,
cushions, red velvet drapes and four seated band members, this evening's
lounge-style intimacy renders Dobson's first person reflections on life
and love all the more startling.
Backed by Manning, conservatory-trained bassist Patrick Hyndes
and a beer-bellied drummer called Howler, she belts out power ballads,
delicate laments and quirky, catchy melodies with professional ease. Dobson
seems to be one part Gwen Stefano to two parts Sinead O'Connor; soft rock
with folk music's do-it-yourself aesthetic.
Urban hippie Manning's predilection for ornate lyricism takes in
both Dahl-esque fairy-tale ("Here walks a giant and the earth is just a
stone in his shoe") and rather gratuitous cultural name-checks (try Lewis
Carroll, Lenny Bruce, Oscar Wilde and, er, Marcel Marceau...)
it is a loaded collection of songs, swirling with undercurrents
and complimented by modest instrumentation - drum brushes here, tiny cymbals
there - and fine harmonies. Offsetting any tweeness with bouts of humour,
growling feedback and even a brief psychedelic wigout, leonardo's bride
plays a tightly coiled set which hints at stadium status but remains firmly
rooted in their Sydney living room.
Jane Cornwell
The Independent, England, September 98.
|